Surreal
by TeamVampire
Summary: Contains suicide. A change on page 755 in OotP. 'He took another deep breath and shut his eyes again. This time there would be no hesitation, no moment of regret.' If there was just one thing you could do, one thing that felt real, would you do it?


**A change on page 755 of _Order of the Phoenix_. Not that it would actually result in this, but I was feeling particularly morbid while writing.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything Harry Potter related**

Surreal

Third Person POV

Their last evening at school had arrived; most people had finished packing and were already heading down to the end-of-term leaving feast, but Harry had not even started.

"Just do it tomorrow!" said Ron, who was waiting by the door of their dormitory. "Come on, I'm starving."

"I won't be long... look, you go ahead..."

But Ron sighed and sat himself down on Harry's bed with dramatic, over done movements, obviously trying to demonstrate just how difficult it was for him to wait around.

Harry rolled his eyes and pulled some crumpled robes out of the very bottom of his trunk to make way for folded ones and, as he did so, noticed a badly wrapped package lying in a corner of it. He could not think what it was doing there. He bent down, pulled it out from underneath his trainers and examined it.

He realized what it was within seconds. Sirius had given it to him just inside the front door of number twelve Grimmauld Place. _Use it if you need me, all right?_

Harry sank down on to his bed and unwrapped the package. Out fell a small, square mirror. It looked old; it was certainly dirty. Harry held it up to his face and saw his own reflection looking back at him.

Ron stared at him apprehensively. "What are you doing?"

"It's the package... Sirius gave it to me," said Harry subduedly. "Before we went back to Hogwarts after Christmas."

Ron froze at Sirius's name; Harry had been avoiding the topic ever since the ministry. Though he wanted to question Harry further, he kept his mouth shut, fearing his best friend's reaction. Although he had been the one to say his name, Harry was clearly not trying to open up the subject.

Harry turned the mirror over. There on the reverse side was a scribbled note from Sirius.

_This is a two-way mirror, I've got the other one of the pair. If you need to speak to me, just say my name into it; you'll appear in my mirror and I'll be able to talk in yours. James and I used to use them when we were in separate detentions._

Harry's heart began to race. He remembered seeing his dead parents in the Mirror of Erised four years ago. He was going to be able to talk to Sirius again, right now, he knew it -

He looked around at Ron, who was still failing to avert his gaze. Harry ignored him, looking back at the mirror. He raised it in front of his face with trembling hands and said, loudly and clearly, "Sirius."

His breath misted the surface of the glass. He held the mirror even closer, excitement flooding through him, but the eyes blinking back at him through the fog were definitely his own.

He wiped the mirror clear again and said, so every syllable rang clearly through the room, "Sirius Black!"

If Ron was staring before it was nothing compared to what he was doing now.

Nothing happened. The frustrated face looking back out of the mirror was still, definitely, his own...

Sirius didn't have his mirror on him when he went through the archway, said a small voice in Harry's head. _That's _why it's not working...

"Er, actually, I think I might go down to the feast now after all," said Ron timidly, getting up off the bed and looking sufficiently scared. "I'll meet you there. You'll be okay up here, right?"

Once again, Harry ignored him. He remained quite still for a moment, then hurled the mirror back into the trunk where it shattered.

"_Reparo_," muttered Ron quietly. He turned, avoiding Harry's eyes, and exited the dormitory.

Harry looked around at the empty room, finally resting his gaze on the repaired mirror. He longed to break it again, to vent his anger, but he knew that, no matter how many times he destroyed it, it could always be restored to perfect condition again. So could everything in the room.

He walked over to his bedside table, picking up the picture of his parents. Harry stared at it for a moment, then purposely let his fingers slip from its frame. It fell to the floor, the glass shattering.

But Harry paid it no mind, it could always be fixed. Just like the spell book he had taken from his trunk and now clutched in his hand. He held it in his palm, as if weighing it, then took one cover in each hand and tore it, slowly and deliberately. When he was finished with that, the remains dropped from his hands, and the rest of his books came next.

All of his other possessions followed, each one ending up in pieces on the now rubbish strewn carpet.

Eventually, there was nothing else left. Yet Harry felt as frustrated and bitter as he had before. Perhaps it was the knowledge that everything he had taken the time to rip, smash and mutilate could all be easily mended. It made all of his actions seem incredibly surreal. Nothing he did had any lasting impact, nothing he did could bring his godfather back, and nothing could make him feel any better, any closer to being normal ever again.

The breeze from the open window caused the curtains to flutter gently, catching his attention. He moved to the window without ever expressing a conscious wish to do so. He climbed up onto the ledge, still unconsciously. Then it came to him. Maybe there was something that could have some effect. Something that could make him feel better, less surreal.

He leaned out into the cool night, gripping the sides of the window and inhaling deeply. The fresh air cleared his head, made his next move obvious. He let go of the window frame with just one hand, still hanging on with the other.

He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what would be next for him. Would he see Sirius again? His parents, even? He thought of his parents and what they would think of him now, of what he was doing. He opened his eyes and grabbed the window frame with both hands again, almost retreating back inside. But another breeze blew through, reminding him of what he was doing, what he wanted to do.

He took another deep breath and shut his eyes again. This time there would be no hesitation, no moment of regret.

Harry smiled softly at his hopes of seeing those dearest to him again and simply let go.

He had experienced the sensation of falling before, but never had he embraced it so fully. The wind rushing past felt like it was caressing him, the whistling in his ears sounded like music. In the moments before he hit the ground he noted vaguely that nothing had ever felt more... surreal.

**What did you think? I liked it. Well, it's depressing, but I'm proud. I didn't think I had it in me to write something like that. First attempt at writing anything so... angsty, so I'd like to know what you think.**

**-TeamVampire**


End file.
